musical literacy and jazz musicians in the 1910s and...

Musical Literacy and Jazz Musiciansin the 1910s and 1920s

By David Chevan

In 1988, I conducted a telephone interview with the African AmericanNew Orleans clarinet player Willie James Humphrey about his tenurefrom 1925 to 1932 in the riverboat band led by Fate Marable. During ourconversation, I asked Humphrey if Marable had hired him because of hisskills as a jazz musician. Although we were talking by phone I could feelthe mood of the conversation change. Humphrey sounded irritated as hereplied, "You had to be a musician [his emphasis], 'cause that's the onlyway you could get on there. You had to know how to read."

Humphrey caught me off guard. I had been working under the assump-tion that Marable would have hired New Orleans musicians because oftheir skills at playing hot solos. I could never have imagined Marable en-gaging Humphrey, a downtown musician, because he "knew how to read."What was I to make of such a strongly-voiced statement?

One need only think of how Humphrey's words complicate our readingof literature on jazz history, which so often describes the historical ten-sions and the social and musical disparities between the downtown blacksand the "Creoles of Color" in Humphrey's native New Orleans. Accordingto most histories, it was the "Creoles of Color" who were the formally edu-cated and musically literate group,1 while the downtown blacks were, al-legedly, trained by ear. Willie James Humphrey came from a family of for-mer slaves with no known Creole blood. Yet his father was a respectedmusic teacher in the New Orleans area who taught young players how toread music as well as how to play their instruments.

Humphrey's words, and especially his annoyed tone, served as a catalyz-ing agent that prompted me to reconsider the early history of jazz fromthe perspective of musical literacy as well as musicianship and musicaltraining. Many African American jazz artists were studied musicians whomight have chosen different career paths if the doors to certain workingenvironments had not been closed to them. We could well speculateabout the unrealized concert careers of Coleman Hawkins, a trained cel-list who turned to the tenor saxophone, or of bassist Milt Hinton, whospent most of his youth playing violin and was one of the youngest highschool students of his day to make the All-City Orchestra in Chicago(Chilton 1990:4, 6-7; Hinton 1988:24-25). These trained musicianssought environments that would challenge all of their musical skills, asreaders, interpreters, and improvisers. They did not wish to be confined to

Current Mwkology, nos. 71-73 (Spring 2001-Spring 2002)© 2002 by the Trustees of Columbia University in the City of New York

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a single category of music but, like Willie Humphrey, thought of them-selves as "musicians."

The aim of this article is to consider the various ways that jazz musicians—both white and black—encountered and engaged with written music inthe 1910s and 1920s. I have chosen an ethnographic approach to this sub-ject. That is, this essay will privilege the voices of musicians, surveying andinterpreting a broad selection of autobiographies, oral histories, and per-sonal interviews of jazz musicians who grew up, studied, and performedduring this period. The material from these primary sources has beensorted into five general sections that cover topics relating to how musicianslearned to use written music and to the actual use of written music in per-formance. The resulting composite picture reveals a wide range of encoun-ters with and responses to written music by these earlyjazz musicians.

Learning to Read MusicFor many earlyjazz musicians, an attraction to music and the idea of

making music began before they were first formally introduced to a musi-cal instrument. Some grew up in musical homes where family memberswere professional or amateur musicians while others remember firsthearing music at church, parades, or other community events. In many ac-counts, they recalled their attraction to the sounds musicians made andtheir desire to try to make such sounds themselves. Following these initialencounters, some musicians, such as Pops Foster, experimented withhomemade instruments. Others, including Danny Barker and ClydeBernhardt, formed kazoo groups with their friends and imitated the latestsongs. The young Louis Armstrong began his professional musical explo-rations by singing in a street corner ensemble.2 These ad hoc and infor-mal settings prepared young jazz-musicians-to-be for their first encounterswith real instruments and perhaps, to some extent, for their first encoun-ters with notated music (Foster 1971:2-3; Bernhardt 1986:33; Barker1986:36; Armstrong 1986:32, 34).

For musicians growing up in a musical household these first experi-ences were usually facilitated by a family member, typically a parent or sib-ling. Often a family member became the child's music teacher. PopsFoster's first bass was a cello with strings made of "twine rubbed with waxand rosin." His first teacher was his brother, Willie Foster, who taught himto play and to read. Soon, the Foster brothers and their sister, Elizabeth,were "playing lawn parties and birthdays in the afternoons and evenings"(Foster 1971:3). Eddie Durham was taught by his older brother to playmusical instruments and read music: "I could read [music] because mybrother studied music . . . he started teaching me trombone and guitar . . .and I could read" (quoted in Pearson 1987:5).

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Barney Bigard received his first musical training from his uncle, EmileBigard, a violinist and the leader of Kid Ory's Creole Ragtime Band. Emilebegan his nephew's musical education by tutoring him from the LazarusMusic Book, purchased from Sears and Roebuck. It was not until the youngBarney had learned to recognize the note names and values that he wasdeemed ready to even begin playing an instrument, at which point hepurchased a second hand El> clarinet (Bigard 1985:10-11).

There were many ways for a young musician to obtain training on theirinstrument. Some early jazz musicians were self-taught, or relied on infor-mal instruction. Others studied privately with teachers, either in school orat home. Most African American communities in urban centers seem tohave had at least one general music teacher who taught many different in-struments and was responsible for the training and musical skills of entiregenerations of players.3

Singleton Palmer was one of many African American musicians fromSt. Louis who came of age in the 1910s and 1920s and studied music withP. B. Langford. In addition to giving private instruction, Langford led theOdd Fellows Brass Band. At rehearsals, Langford saw to it that youngmusicians had an opportunity to learn their craft by sitting alongsidemore seasoned players.

What we would do, I would go take a lesson from him [Langford]and then, I think it was every Wednesday night down at the UnionHall . . . we would go down, us youngsters and he'd give us a fewpointers then downstairs. Then, later on, upstairs, he'd carry us up-stairs to sit beside the older musicians you know and play themarches. He had a darn good band, cause the older guys, they werereally good musicians. (Palmer 1982:8)

Trombonist Robert Carter also studied with Langford. Carter's elemen-tary school teacher, Harvey Sims, was inspired to form a concert band atthe school. Sims asked Langford to be the bandmaster and, as it turnedout, to teach the young children how to play their instruments.

He would come out to school. There were about twelve of us in theband, and he played an E-flat cornet, and he would take the littleband part and he would make the position on the notes, how youmake it on the horn. Then he'd play the part on his horn, and you'dfollow him. And, actually, I learned how to play. (Carter 1973:2-3)

Carter did not learn to read with Langford, only how to play the posi-tions on his instrument. What we see here is the emphasis placed on theskill of using one's ear to learn to perform proficiently. It isn't clear why

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Langford, who was clearly comfortable with written music, chose not toteach the children how to read. Perhaps the task of simultaneously teach-ing a large group of children basic performance techniques and readingwas too great. Later, with the help of his schoolmate, Robert Johnson,Carter was able to arrive at a moment of conceptual awakening that startledhim and left a strong and lasting impression.

Most of the training that I have had has been with fellows. . . . RobertJohnson was one of the first guys that helped me. He said, "Comeon. I'll help you," when he wanted me to join Bill Jeter's band. Andthat's it. Just been from playing with other musicians that can play,sitting down beside them . . . as far as the time, knowing one note . . .I didn't really know. Like a quarter note gets one beat and a halfnote gets two beats, I didn't really learn that until I . . . played withfellows like Robert Johnson. And he said, "Well, there's nothing toreading music. It's just a matter of arithmetic, and it just came to melike a bolt out of the blue." Well, it is . . . but I didn't know it. That'sall there is to it, but I just don't know. (ibid.:31)

Carter's story reveals the importance of exchanges between youngerand older, more experienced musicians. Vertna Saunders, an AfricanAmerican cornetist and trumpet player, was similarly frustrated by hisearly attempts at learning to read music. He relied on his ear to learnpieces. When his playing had developed and his lip strengthened, he wasinvited to play with a local lodge brass band. They overlooked his inabilityto read and "just took a little time" with him. One evening after rehearsal,an older member of the band took Saunders aside.

So there was a trombone player in this band that was a letter carrier.He had a very, very nice disposition and attitude about life, very, verynice. So he asked me after rehearsal one night, "How you gettingalong?" I said, "Well my lip seems to be coming along fine, but I justcan't learn to read." So I'll never forget this statement as long as Ilive. He said, "Well, I don't see why you should have so much troublewith it." He said, "anytime you see "C," it's in the same place. It's thefirst . . . " well, he played trombone and he told me this in the bassclef. He said, "Now you're in the treble clef," so he said, "it's the firstspace below the staff [sic]. If you here or in China. It's the same. "C."Its the same all over." I said, "Well, I thought "C" changed." He said,"Oh, no "C" never changes." He said, "What's on the first line of thestaff?" I said, "Well, I don't know right now." He said, "E." Anytimeyou see "E," "it's got to be on the first line." He said, "What follows"E?" I said, "F." He said, "What is that?" I said, "The first space." He


said, "Sure that's it." So I went on from there and he told me whatinstruction book to buy So I bought the instruction book and Icould understand it pretty well. Just by the man telling me about "C"was always in the same place. (Saunders 1982:9-10)

One of the best known general music teachers in the New Orleans areawas Willie James Humphrey's father, James Humphrey, but he was onlyone of several music teachers in New Orleans. For example, clarinetistsBarney Bigard, Johnny Dodds, and Albert Nicholas all studied withLorenzo Tio.4 Nicholas noted that Tio "could teach as well as he couldplay," but just as important was Tio's musical literacy. Barney Bigard re-called that in choosing a clarinet teacher he had narrowed the field to twopossibilities. One choice was a member of the John Robichaux Orchestra.In order to help Bigard make up his mind, a friend suggested that heattend a performance of the John Robichaux Orchestra at the LyricTheater and sit directly behind Robichaux's clarinetist, Alphonse Picou,

because he always sits with his music stand facing towards the audi-ence. I want you to watch him read his music. I couldn't see what hewas driving at but come Monday we . . . sat directly behind [Picou].After a few bars it became clear that the old man never played onepart of that music and I asked [my friend] what was happening."He's playing by ear," he said. "Well, I'll be damned," I replied . . .(Bigard 1985:13)

Bigard eventually found the teacher he was looking for in Lorenzo Tio.Like Nicholas, Bigard held Tio's teaching skills in high regard and indi-cated that these were a reflection of Tio's skills as a musician. "Tio . . . wasa great reader, even by today's standards," Bigard recalled. "He had realfast execution and he could improvise—play jazz in other words—on topof all the rest. He would even make his own reeds out of some kind of oldcane. Yes, Lorenzo Tio was the man in those days in the city of NewOrleans." Bigard was equally struck by Tio's ability to impart his ideas in aunique manner to every student. He noted that no two students ofLorenzo Tio played in the same style (ibid.: 17).

The Dodds brothers were concerned with the development of their mu-sical skills and studied with a number of New Orleans teachers. Warren"Baby" Dodds recalled that his brother, John, studied with Lorenzo Tio, aswell as with Charles McCurdy. That Johnny Dodds was studying techniqueand not improvisation may be surmised from Bigard's observations thatMcCurdy was "quite a musician, but he wasn't a jazz player." Bigard notedthat McCurdy could play anything written, but was not able to improvise;"itjust wasn't in him" (Dodds 1992:14; Bigard 1985:17).

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Baby Dodds began his studies with Dave Perkins but soon switched toWalter Brundy who taught him "the fundamentals of reading music."According to Baby Dodds this interest in formalizing one's studies by ob-taining a private teacher, honing technique, and learning how to read mu-sic was not common among the musicians of the downtown AfricanAmerican community. Reading music, in New Orleans, was more commonwith the Creole community, and Dodds felt that he and his brother wereexceptions (Dodds 1992:7-8, 13). But I would hesitate to accept Dodds'sclaim. He appears to be completely unaware of James Humphrey, andmay well have not known who amongst his fellow downtown musicianswere taking music lessons.

Although most music ensembles were separated along racial lines, earlyjazz musicians found that private teachers were ready and willing to teachanyone with an interest in music. A few white musicians, such as pianist

Jess Stacy, studied with African American teachers, and the reverse wasalso true. Pianist Pete Patterson, an African American, was playing at the19th Century Club in St. Louis when he was approached by the white con-ductor of the Orpheum theater, Dr. Bojes. Bojes invited Patterson to hisstudio for private lessons.

He said, "Don't worry whether you have any money or not, becauseI'm going to give them to you free." . . . So, I went over, and he . . .taught me . . . he gave me eight lessons, and he didn't charge meanything . . . he would have taught me longer, but, you see, I was inmusic playing, and that was my living then. . . . He gave me three orfour of those lessons which were nothing but scales, you know. Hesaid that that was some of the best exercises you can have on the pi-ano is to have those scales. . . . he explained some theoretical parts attimes, and he would come up and show me, probably in diacriticalmarks. . . . Like I come upon a phrase and would have an Italianword there that meant thus and so. Or German . . . or they wouldhave French. Well, he would tell me what that meant. "Allegretto"and "Allegro" and all like that, you know. He taught me all that, be-cause I wasn't well aware of that, you know. I hadn't been playingthat type of music that high up, you know. (Patterson 1974:4-6)

Patterson's experience was rewarding, and not unique. For example,while in Paris, Garvin Bushell studied with Henri Selmer (Bushell andTucker 1990:68). Peg Meyer recalled that whenever Fate Marable's boatwould dock in Cape Girardeau, he would invite Jess Stacy, a whiteteenager, on board to take a piano lesson. According to Meyer, "Fatewould have Jess come on the boat and play for him; and in the processteach him how a pianist should play with a band, how to fill in the holes in


the ensemble, and how to back up a band member who was taking a cho-rus" (Meyer 1989:101). Stacy would later go on to play piano in BennyGoodman's orchestra.

In addition to studying music privately, some early jazz musicians wereable to obtain a musical education at school. This usually consisted ofplaying in a school band or orchestra, or occasionally participating ingroup instrumental lessons, such as those taken by Robert Carter in ele-mentary school (Carter 1973:2). In these settings, students learned to readmusic and develop their ensemble skills. These school experiences gener-ally began during their high school years, although Vertna Saunders,Leon King, and Robert Carter, all African American musicians, begantheir studies in elementary school (Saunders 1982:3; King 1982:5; Carter1973:2) .5

Peg Meyer believed that playing in his high school orchestra developedhis strong interest in music and enhanced his reading skills. Leon King'sfirst ensemble experience was playing in his high school orchestra in EastSt. Louis. The ensemble regularly played through various orchestral over-tures, and King noticed that his playing and ensembles skills improveddramatically (King 1982:5). When Druie Bess, an African American musi-cian, began Lane Tech High School in Chicago he already had consider-able experience playing the trombone. He was pleased to find a teacherthere who could guide him further with the instrument. Bess's tromboneskills were so good that he was not permitted to play in the band—he hadto play in the orchestra (Bess 1971:4).

After high school, musicians might also leave home to attend collegewhere they could continue their music studies. Among others, Lil Hardinstudied music at Fisk University and E. A. McKinney received his music ed-ucation at Tuskegee Institute between 1903 and 1906. McKinney recalledperforming in three ensembles run by Tuskegee's music program: thepreparatory band, the concert band, and the orchestra, all led by S. W.Grisham. As part of his training, McKinney studied all of the brass instru-ments. He specialized on the trombone, but also became familiar with thealto horn, trumpet, valve trombone, and French horn. McKinney foundhimself rehearsing with an ensemble almost every day of the week and no-ticed his reading skills improve to the point where he was good enough totour with the school band (McKinney 1974:1, 7-8).

There were also musicians who were self-taught or who were motivatedto continue their studies on their own. Those musicians who wished to de-velop their reading skills would often acquire and study method books orsheet music. Elijah Shaw bought "all the literature I could pertaining todrumming." In addition, he worked with a copy of George HamiltonGreen's theory and study on xylophone (Cortinovis 1971:35). Buster

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Bailey and his friends would learn the new popular tunes by purchasingthe most recent copy of Etude magazine.

Another formal setting where early jazz musicians developed their mu-sical skills was performing with a benevolent society band. P. B. Langford'sband at the Union Hall and the Odd Fellows Brass Band in St. Louis wereonly two of the ensembles that were offshoots of such local societies. ManySt. Louis musicians felt that the bands sponsored by local lodge chapterswere important learning opportunities for young musicians. Similar sto-ries have been told about the importance of bands affiliated with societiesand organizations in New Orleans, and further research would most likelyturn up comparable groups in other American urban centers.6

While early jazz musicians learned a great deal from their teachers inschool and at private lessons, much of their education took place in lessformal circumstances. It was noted earlier that Robert Carter and VertnaSaunders did not learn to read music from a teacher but from an informaland spontaneous lesson with another musician. These experiences mirrorthose of many other early jazz musicians who were profoundly affected bya few remarks made by a gifted peer or an older musician. Pops Fosterspoke highly of the advice of his brother Willie. According to Foster, it washis brother who taught him and a number of other young New Orleansmusicians the fundamentals of musical notation (Foster 1971:3, 82).Vertna Saunders remembered that a performance with Scofield Brownhelped a great deal with score reading (Saunders 1982:30). Louis Arm-strong credits David Jones with showing him how to "divide the notes sothat whenever Fate [Marable] threw a new arrangement I was able to copewith it" (Armstrong 1986:182).

The earliest jazz musicians began their studies before there wererecordings to use as models. As a result, observing musicians in perform-ance was crucial to the development of a young musician. Clyde Bern-hardt was told by his teacher, Albert Jones, to go out and watch othermusicians perform. Bernhardt then found he could recognize when musi-cians were taking solos that weren't written in the music (Bernhardt1986:36-37).

As a young boy, Leon King would go to a dance hall in Collinsville,Illinois, every Saturday night and stand in the window to watch CharlieCreath's band. He knew that Creath had the best musicians, includingZutty Singleton, but he never met them. King paid close attention to thenumbers and tried hard to learn them; he also noticed that the entireband was reading music (King 1982:11-12). Preston Jackson would go tothe Royal Gardens in Chicago to hear King Oliver's band and sit behindHonore Dutrey. He observed how easily Dutrey would play the cello parts


from stock arrangements on his trombone (Shapiro and Hentoff1966:97).

Some younger musicians were sensitive to their technical weaknessesand hid them until they were compelled to improve. Vertna Saunders re-membered that other musicians would make fun of him when they foundout he could not read music. To compensate, he practiced by ear and wasable to fake his way through rehearsals and performances until an oldermusician explained the intricacies of music notation to him (Saunders1982:5-6, 9-10). Jimmy Harrison went back to the woodshed for some in-tense practicing after Fletcher Henderson fired him for not being up onhis reading. When he returned, able to read, Henderson rehired him(Bernhardt 1986:62).

Five Specific Performance Contexts

Marching BandsDuring the first quarter of the twentieth century, brass marching bands

were an important component of African American benevolent societiesand organizations in most midwestern and southern cities. Many youngmusicians, such as Singleton Palmer and Robert Carter, were given theirfirst instrumental lessons under the auspices of these organizations, andthey continued their studies by observing the older members of the brassbands perform. The number of societies and the demand for players wasso great that musicians frequently played in more than one band. In theSt. Louis area, for example, musicians played in bands for at least sevenbenevolent societies: the American United Knights, the Daughters ofAfrica, the Elks, the Knights of Pythias, the Odd Fellows, the Masons, andthe United Brethren Fellowship. Brass bands played for a variety of func-tions including church ceremonies, picnics, advertisement for societyevents, and, perhaps most significantly, holiday parades (Palmer 1982:8-9;McKinney 1974:14-15, 37; Saunders 1982:8).

The best known jazz-related activity of the brass marching band was itsfunction in the city of New Orleans at funerals. There are numerous ac-counts of New Orleans brass bands, sometimes as many as three or four,accompanying the funeral party to the cemetery with slow marches andsolemn hymns. The bands would remain outside the gates of the cemeteryuntil the mourners completed the burial. Once the funeral party was out-side of the gate, the band, cued either by the drummer or the lead trum-pet, would "put their [sheet] music in their pockets and everybody startedwailing" (Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:16, 20-21). The musicians in the NewOrleans brass bands were clearly comfortable both reading their parts andmaking up new ones.7

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Most of these marching bands were made up either entirely or prima-rily of reading musicians. These were musicians who placed a high valueon reading skills and on overall musicianship. Musicians were expected toexecute a perfect performance—that is, to perform the piece as written.Further, these musicians would judge the musical skills of others basedupon these specific values. Danny Barker used to listen to his grandfather,Isidore Barbarin, discuss the relative merits of individual performanceswith his friend and fellow musician, Mr. Taton.

I heard them on the front steps discussing music and musicians verycritically. The alto and baritone horns walked in front of the threecornet players in the brass band, and they would hear very closelyand clearly who was and was not playing to perfection. . . . Musicianswho replaced regular members of both of the great brass bandsknew beforehand that when they were handed the music parts to beplayed that all the ears in the bands were listening sharply at whatthey were playing, whether right or wrong. (Barker 1986:7)

Individual musicians whose reading and performing skills were exem-plary were praised and held up as examples for young musicians. Theskills of clarinetist Lorenzo Tio, which have already been discussed, weretreated as an exemplary model against which the musicianship of otherscould be measured. In New Orleans marching band circles, the acknowl-edged master on cornet was Manuel Perez.

Manuel Perez was . . . the idol of the downtown Creole coloredpeople. To them nobody could master the cornet like Mr. Perez.When this brass band played a march, dirge or hymn it was played toperfection—no blunders. Many of these marching musicians onlyplayed in brass bands, never in dance or jazz bands. (ibid.:26)

Similarly, kudos were given to Buddy Johnson, the trombonist for theOnward Brass Band. Isidore Barbarin described Johnson as "the greatestparade and reading trombone player who ever placed a 'bone to hismouth" (ibid.:64). In New Orleans, to be considered a good reading musi-cian was high praise. It should be noted, however, that there were somemarching bands that did not read at all. Nat Towles recalled playing in amarching band where there was "no music, you understand, we didn'tknow what a sheet of music was" (Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:16). DannyBarker does not mention whether any of these groups were discussed byIsadore Barbarin and Mr. Taton, but one could imagine that they wouldnot have been viewed favorably.


Circus and Tent Show BandsSome early jazz musicians spent a portion of their career performing in

groups that accompanied traveling entertainment such as circuses, min-strel shows, carnivals, and tent shows. Most of these jobs paid well andwere sought after by the better musicians. The music played by thesebands served a number of different functions. Upon arriving in a newtown, most traveling entertainment troupes would advertise their arrivalwith a parade. Before the show began the band performed overtures andlight classics. During the show the musicians would accompany the acts,with virtuoso musicians performing solo features between acts. Followingthe performance the musicians would play exit music and later, on occa-sion, present music for dancing. As a result, the musicians who played inthese bands were expected to be technically proficient as well as able toperform a wide variety of music (Pearson 1987:7-8, 9, 31-32; Bernhardt1986:8, 23-26; Bess 1971:4-8; Bushell and Tucker 1990:11-12).

Garvin Bushell spent the summer of 1916 touring with the sideshowband for the Sells-Floto circus. The band consisted of African Americanmusicians from throughout the South and was led by the arrangerH. Qualli Clark. Since the ensemble was not the principal band for the cir-cus, their repertoire only consisted of marches, popular songs, ragtime,and a few blues numbers (Bushell and Tucker 1990:11-12). The concertband that played for the show usually had twelve to fifteen musicians, butwhen a parade took place, the sideshow musicians and other amateurmusicians were added to the ensemble so that the band could consist ofanywhere from fifty to seventy-five players (Meyer 1989:119).

The musicians read their parts from stock arrangements and bandscores. There were few special arrangements written for these traveling en-sembles. Although most circuses relied solely on published scores, therewere some occasions where original arrangements were used. EddieDurham's facility as a reading musician enabled him to get work with theMiller Brothers 101 Wild West Circus. This job gave him his first opportu-nity to write and arrange music.

I got started in arranging [when] I decided to go with the [MillerBrothers] 101 Wild West Circus They had two bands, a big whiteband and the black band. The black band was the jazz band, becausethey had a minstrel show over there. . . . The black band was a smallband, but they still had three trombones and trumpets, and allthat. . . . I'd get the guys to rehearse, [and] those old guys couldplay. . . . That's how I started writing, but it was all for me to learnharmony, because if I made any bad notes they could break away un-til I straightened up That's how I learned to voice, so much vocaland five part harmony, because I had to play around [and] . . . to

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experiment with those horns . . . when I left . . . I had my degreeanyway. I graduated from Street University, (quoted in Pearson1987:6-7)

Durham's description of his learning process as being similar to goingto a university is reminiscent of Zutty Singleton's observation that workingfor Fate Marable meant that one was going to the "riverboat conserva-tory." These observations make clear diat the musicians understood thatthese jobs served a dual purpose: as employment and as places where onecould continue and expand their musical education. Durham's tenure asan arranger in a circus band served him well, as he later became anarranger for Count Basie and Glenn Miller, among others.

Movie Theaters and VaudevilleThe theater was also a venue where early jazz musicians could find em-

ployment. Traveling theatrical productions, vaudeville acts, and minstrelshows needed musically literate musicians to accompany them on tours,and most theaters also had permanent pit orchestras ranging from a sin-gle organ or piano to a full orchestra. The responsibilities of the local pitorchestra included playing music before and after the show as well as ac-companying movies, vaudeville acts, and other traveling performers. Forsome theater owners, the ability to read the music provided for the bandwas more important than the group's popularity or overall musical ability.This is exemplified by two similar events, one in New York City and theother in Los Angeles, that occurred around 1920. In both instances, popu-lar and well-known bands were hired as the pit orchestra for local theaters,but neither band contained strong readers. When the musicians weregiven written arrangements to accompany other acts and the movie, theycould not play the music. Both bands were fired (Bushell and Tucker1990:23; Foster 1971:122). Not all theater owners were so harsh in theirdemands. Garvin Bushell heard the local pit orchestras of many AfricanAmerican theaters. "They played jazz and had to improvise behind thesingers. Bad notes didn't mean anything if the tempo was right" (Bushelland Tucker 1990:36).

Jesse Stone, an African American pianist and arranger from KansasCity, used to watch his father, a local drummer who played in minstrelshows, marching bands, and the local vaudeville theater. He noticed thatall of the musicians, including his father, played from written music.

One night they would feature my uncle [on trombone] in the pit,the next night they would feature my father on drums. . . . Theycould read music at that time, but they didn't know the definition ofan arrangement. They knew it was handwritten music and even when


I came up in school they called it "homemade music." (Pearson1987:11)

Elijah Shaw enjoyed the challenge that came with playing in the theaterpit orchestra for silent movies "because you had to play music accordingto the pictures." The band leader always received a list of cues describingthe appropriate music for each scene and, if specific pieces weren't listedon the cue sheet, the musicians in the orchestra were free to offer theirsuggestions. Most theaters had music libraries with published music forthis purpose. Some movies were shipped to the theater with music that in-cluded full scores and arrangements.

I remember when we played the show for Douglas Fairbanks, thatbig picture he was in the Thief of Baghdad. They sent the musicalong with the picture, so we didn't have any problems . . . it cameright along with the picture. So what we had to do was have a re-hearsal . . . That was something. And any number of pictures, themusic came right along with the pictures. (Shaw quoted inCortinovis 1971:57)

There were also those early jazz musicians who played for the silentmovies but did not take the job seriously. One group of white Chicagomusicians performed pieces by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band with noregard for what was on the screen. Another group of white musicians inMassachusetts played the refrain from "Tiger Rag" during highly emo-tional scenes (Eddie Condon 1947:146; Kaminsky 1963:11). Not surpris-ingly, these groups quickly found themselves without a job. Such anec-dotes raise the question of whether African American musicians valuedreading skills more than their white counterparts. With employment op-portunities already limited, one can imagine that there was more at stakein terms of social status and financial gain for African American musicianswho could read music.

Most vaudeville acts and theatrical productions rarely made their homein a single theater. They survived and generated their income by touring.In general, musicians who performed for these productions also accompa-nied the tour. The larger productions were elaborate shows that could lastup to two hours and contained a cast of over thirty-five people, plus theorchestra. While in the pit, the musicians read from parts, but all musicplayed on stage was memorized. Most musicians who accompanied thelarge shows were good readers. While these touring groups, which weremore typically small, well-rehearsed ensembles, preferred reading musi-cians, there were exceptions made for talented musicians who could notread music such as Sidney Bechet, who performed with Will Marion Cook

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and his Southern Syncopated Orchestra during their European tour in1919 (Bernhardt 1986:75, 78; Bushell and Tucker 1990:56-57).

There were even instances where musicians were required to memorizethe music for an entire show. As Ma Rainey's music director, Thomas A.Dorsey wrote arrangements both for the small group that accompaniedthe tour and for the local pit orchestras. Rainey kept her band on stageand made it a part of her show. Dorsey had written and arranged the en-tire show—from "overture to finale"—and it was important that every mu-sician know his part. Before the tour began Dorsey rehearsed the band"for four straight weeks, five hours a day" until they had memorized themusic. Thus, although written music was involved in the performance, au-dience members would not have seen a single piece of sheet music usedby the featured musicians (Harris 1992:91-93).

Recording StudiosOne venue that frequently required the use of written music was the

recording studio, and some musicians have left accounts that shed somelight on the different ways that written music was utilized in such a setting.For example, Garvin Bushell discussed many of his early recordings anddescribed pieces in terms of whether he was reading a part or improvisinghis line. This kind of information clarifies not only what specific pieceswere notated, but also how the musicians felt about the music they wereplaying.

As in other environments, pieces might be fully notated, partially no-tated, or not written at all. Or the musicians might have memorized theirparts and no longer relied solely on the score for their performance. Acloser reading of some oral histories makes it possible to identify somerecording sessions which used fully notated parts and some recording ses-sions where the music was completely learned and performed by ear.

Garvin Bushell recalled recording sessions from 1921 led by PerryBradford that did not use written music. But Bradford had developed aunique method for obtaining a good performance.

Perry Bradford used to direct those sessions with Mamie [Smith].He'd stand on a big platform and make motions for what he wantedthe instruments to do, moving his hands up for high notes, down forlow ones. We knew so little about recording in those days. Comparedto today's technology, it was like the difference between hitching ahorse to a rig and having a Cadillac. If we'd just used common sense,we would have done things much different. (Bushell and Tucker1990:22)8

"Common sense" in this instance probably means using written music.Baby Dodds remembered that there was little written music used by the

214 CURRENT MUSIGOLOGY

Hot Seven in rehearsal for their recording sessions with Louis Armstrongin 1927. The process for working out routines and details on the record-ing was informal and democratic.

With Louis' outfit we used to have rehearsal and anything that wehad in mind for any particular number we would work out then. Hewould tell each of us when to take a solo or when not to, and whowould come in at different times. We weren't a bunch of fellows towrite down anything. That would have made it too mechanical. Wewould stop and talk it out more than anything else. If there was anywriting involved Lil [Armstrong] would write down what the musi-cians were supposed to do. (Dodds 1992:72)

Although Baby Dodds suggests that there is something "mechanical"about written music, he does acknowledge that Lil Armstrong was jottingdown something during the rehearsals. In interviews, Lil discussed usingher own arrangements for the New Orleans Wanderers sessions in 1926.Lil's notations during the rehearsals might have been little more than sim-ple outlines in long-hand, such as reminders of die routines and solo order.

In contrast to the Hot Seven's parts, Baby Dodds recalled that JimmyBlythe would "write out the parts and give each of us the part for our in-struments" for his sessions in 1927 (Dodds 1992:71). A similar experienceoccurred when Jelly Roll Morton hired Dodds for his Red Hot Pepper ses-sions in 1927. Dodds recalled that Morton did not bring the musiciansinto the studio until the group had already met and rehearsed their partsto his satisfaction.

During the rehearsals he would say, "Now that's just the way I want iton the recording," and he meant just that. We used his originalnumbers and he always explained what it was all about and played asynopsis of it on the piano. Sometimes we had music and he wouldmark with a pencil those places which he wanted to stand out in anumber . . . he often gave us something extra to do, some little nov-elty or something. When we made "Jungle Blues" he wanted a gongeffect and I think I used a large cymbal and a mallet to produce theeffect he wanted . . . It took quite a bit of rehearsing on some ofthose to get just what Jelly wanted but he told us what he expectedand we would do our best to get the right effect, (ibid.:74-75)

Garvin Bushell recalled that notated music was used when makingrecordings with Fletcher Henderson for Black Swan in 1921, but much ofthe time not every musician would receive a part.

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Fletcher was in charge of the record dates. He might pick the num-bers in the office, present them to the vocalists, then we'd have arehearsal and get it together. Often there were only two pieces ofmusic, one for the piano and one for the trumpet (or violin). Some-times everybody would have a part. (Bushell and Tucker 1990:31-32)

Even if there were only two pieces of music for all of the musicians, itseems clear that the crucial moment in this reading and learning processwas during the rehearsal where the musicians would "get it together." It isunfortunate that Bushell does not explain why every musician did not geta part. Perhaps the complexity of the piece determined whether everymusician at the session would even need a part.

DancesWritten music was often used by musicians who performed at dances in

the 1910s and 1920s. The degree of literacy expected of the musicians ap-pears to have been related, at least in part, to the level of formality of theevent. This is reinforced by descriptions of some of the different types ofdances played by musicians during this period. Social dancing from theturn of the century until at least the late 1920s retained certain formalcharacteristics. It was common for dances on the riverboats and in certainparts of southeast Missouri to use program cards. The card had numberedlines, and before the show began dancers would sign up on each others'cards; a placard by the band would announce which "number" was beingplayed (Meyer 1989:131). In most cities, the "respectable" dance halls hadsomeone to chaperon the activities on the dance floor. Danny Barker re-called that even one of the roughest rooms in New Orleans had some kindof chaperon to determine who could and could not dance in the venue.9

Peg Meyer, a white musician, performed for dances in a wide variety ofvenues, playing a ballroom one night and a low "dive" the next. LeonKing, an African American musician, played for dances in fraternities,sororities, dance halls, and once, for a picnic on a makeshift scaffold.Dances held in formal settings, "high class places" such as hotels or dancehalls, were more likely to hire bands where the musicians read music thanthose in less formal settings such as rent parties or "chittlin' stomps"(Meyer 1989:97; King 1982:5-10, 20-23; Foster 1971:43).10

There was a "high-class" and "low-class" continuum in both AfricanAmerican and white communities. Bands were organized to work with ageneral type of venue in mind and their ability to read music played nosmall part in this matter. For example, John Robichaux's band in NewOrleans was a reading band and was able to work its way from publicdances in Lincoln Park to private dances in upper class venues, eventually


becoming in 1919 the house band at the Lyric Theater, the city's premierblack theater. In contrast, Buddy Bolden's band, a group that did not relyon written music for performances, was featured at a hall whose nicknamewas Funky Butt.

Perhaps the versatility and the variety of genres within its repertoire wasthe best measure of the degree to which a band would rely on written mu-sic. Pops Foster believed that repertoire played an important role in deter-mining the venue where a New Orleans musician or band might be hired."It was a rule in New Orleans if you didn't play any blues you didn't getcolored jobs, and if you didn't play lancers you didn't get Cajun jobs.White jobs didn't care what you played. The Tuxedo Band didn't play anyblues; they were a ragtime band and didn't get colored jobs. They got a lotof showjobs and later on some of the dicty affairs" (Foster 197l:54).n

Foster's delineation tends to coincide with particular venues, genres,and the presence or absence of written music. Bands that played "dicty af-fairs" would perform pieces such as lancers and were reading bands, whilebands that played blues, for the most part, were not. Race was not the ulti-mate factor that determined whether written music was used by a band.Many bands that played dances for African Americans read music on thejob. Leon King remembers dances for African American lodges where theperformance consisted of playing stock arrangements straight, playing thestocks with changes, and playing head arrangements. The bands thatplayed the Monday night black dances on the Streckfus boats in St. Louisfunctioned in a similar manner (King 1982:20-23; Peretti 1989:74).

As has been noted above, the repertoire of dance bands reflected themusical tastes, styles, and expectations of the audiences who attendedspecific venues. The pieces developed by a group were generally moldedaround these expectations. Some groups, such as King Oliver's band, haddistinct repertoires for different audiences. Clyde Bernhardt recalled thatOliver usually called "smooth, sweet modern numbers" for white audi-ences and "when we worked colored places, which was often on ourMondays off, we played a lot of blues and jazz numbers" (Bernhardt1986:97). Bands that could read music usually had a larger repertoirethan those that could not. Ensembles with musically literate and techni-cally skilled musicians, or that frequently rehearsed, were in a better posi-tion to play more demanding and complex pieces than those that did not.

Pete Bocage recalled that his father, who played in a turn-of-the-centuryNew Orleans dance band, did not play any jazz. All of the music his fatherplayed was read by the ensemble; some of it was in manuscript while otherpieces were published. "And they had a set of books they called 'Man-hattan Books'—dance books, you know," Bocage remembered. "Well theyhad quadrilles, they had mazurkas, and they had waltzes, and they had

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lancers and varieties, and all that type of music they played those days"(Bocagel959).

When Johnny St. Cyr began playing in New Orleans, "a band wouldhave a repertoire of about thirty or forty numbers." The musicians heknew and the bands he played with consisted primarily of reading musi-cians. When they needed new "written music, the musicians would buy itat the big music stores, Werlen's or Grunewald's, then change it around tosuit themselves" (St. Cyr 1966:6-8; Hennessey 1994:5).

Ragtime was played by most turn-of-the-century dance bands. Many mu-sicians considered "Standard High Class Rags" (better known as the RedBack Book), a collection of band arrangements of ragtime numbers pub-lished by John Stark, to be an important source for their repertoire. TheRed Back Book was one of the primary sources for Scott Joplin's music.Musicians growing up in New Orleans and Chicago recall hearing localgroups perform Joplin numbers from the Red Books (Bocage 1959;Mezzrow 1972:29). There even was competition amongst musicians forgood arrangements of new pieces. Pops Foster belonged to a musicians'club and purchased ragtime numbers by Scott Joplin, Tom Turpin, andWalter Jacobs by mail order. "For a dollar you got four numbers. When wegot a number nobody had, we'd cut the title off the sheet and write 'SomeStuff' up there and put a number on it to keep track of them. If a guywould ask what it was, we'd say 'Some Stuff' and that way he couldn't ordera copy of it" (Foster 1971:78).

Bands with large repertoires were careful to program their sets to in-clude a wide selection of styles. Clyde Bernhardt was impressed with thevariety in King Oliver's 1931 performances. The band's repertory included

Hot numbers like "Tiger Rag" so the guys could show off; the "St.Louis Blues," "Beale Street," and the "Memphis Blues;" waltzes andstandards such as "My Wild Irish Rose," "Danny Boy," and even "OSole Mio"; Oliver originals like "Mule Face Blues" and "BoogieWoogie." [Oliver] also did "Lazy River," "Stardust," and other newtunes and introduced many songs just as fast as they came out.(Bernhardt 1986:96)

Peg Meyer carefully planned the repertoire for his performances fromthe first song to the very end of the night, and always kept his band'scrowd-pleasing showmanship at the forefront. Meyer rotated the varioustypes of dance tunes systematically to allow the dancers to plan theirdance cards. "We played fast and "wild" numbers for one-steps, bouncymelodious tunes for the regular fox trots, blues for the slow fox trots andgrinds, and waltzes. We usually programmed our evening using this rota-tion, and with the program card system the dancers could not only select


their partners for the evening but could select the type of dance andtempo" (Meyer 1989:132-33). In contrast, Pops Foster heard some NewOrleans dance bands that only performed ragtime numbers: "If youdanced to ragtime you could grab the chick and squeeze her anyway youwanted to" (Foster 1971:73).

Reading Skills and Regional DifferencesThe general level of musical literacy and technical ability in the 1910s

and 1920s varied regionally. Touring musicians were in a good position tonotice the differences in musical practice around the country. While someregional differences may have been slight, there were occasionally cities orregions where musicians encountered a higher level of musicianship. Inthe eyes of many musicians, musical literacy and technical ability wereseen as linked—a technically adept musician was one who could read andplay his part well.

For example, in 1921, while on tour with Mamie Smith in Chicago,Bushell was struck by the musical literacy and technical fluency of DocCooke's band at the Sunset Cafe and of Erskine Tate's Vendome Theaterpit band. "They could read—or some of them could, the ones who playedthe Vendome Theater. Chicago jazzmen had the advantage in those yearsof having a crack at theater music before the New York jazzmen did. Theyimproved their ability that way, and so could read a little better than jazzmusicians in the East" (Bushell and Tucker 1990:25-26).

While Bushell considered Chicago to be a good reading town, he foundthe level of musicianship to be high in many other locales as well. InBaltimore, Bushell encountered many skillful, technically adept jazzmusicians.

There was good jazz in just about every cabaret, no matter how lowor cheap. Baltimore musicians had more technique than the NewYork players, I don't know why. They were very fly, smart, creativeimprovisers. But they didn't play the blues the way the musiciansfrom the South did. Their jazz was based on ragtime piano practices,and piano ragtime influenced the way they played their horns. Theyalso had the best banjo players in the world. (ibid.:34)

Bushell doesn't comment on the musical literacy of these musicians, buthis comments regarding ragtime suggest the importance of written musicin the ragtime tradition. Buster Bailey grew up in Memphis, Tennessee,and recalled playing a hot style of music. As a teenager, Bailey played withW. C. Handy's band, among others. Bailey believed that the biggest differ-ence between the music in New Orleans and that of his native Memphiswas that New Orleans musicians improvised more: "ours was more the

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note variety. We played from sheets" (Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:77). PopsFoster remembered that W. C. Handy's band played society dates through-out the South. Foster thought that Handy's band played as though themusic had been through-composed, with little or no improvisation (Foster1971:90).

St. Louis native Vertna Saunders visited New Orleans while playingtrumpet on the riverboats. He heard Papa Celestin's band, a small bigband, and was not impressed with the way the group read its arrangements.

Now the largest band that I ever heard in New Orleans was the bandthey called Papa Celestin. . . . He had a large band, but it was just alot of men in the way . . . they were reading. They had arrangements.The style that the New Orleans musicians played, they were muchbetter in small groups. (Saunders 1982:71-72)

As a young boy growing up in Louisville, Kentucky, trombonist DickyWells "never heard that New Orleans 'tailgate' sound style." According toWells, the bands in Louisville tended to be larger ensembles that playedmostly from stock arrangements with room for improvisation (Wells1991:9). Garvin Bushell was not impressed by the musicians that he heardin 1922 during a trip to the West Coast. He felt the jazz there "was nothingcompared to the Midwest, East, and South." Bushell's critical and discern-ing ear noticed a good deal, and his observations make clear how carefullymusicians were listening to one another and watching how each otherwere performing. He knew which bands had good readers, which bandshad good improvisers, and which had both. Bushell recognized the valueof musical literacy, technical proficiency, and of just plain sounding like agood jazz musician. The values Bushell held were shared by many othermusicians, since tihese ideas could be found in varying degrees in all regionsof the country.

Reading and FakingAfter moving to New York City, Bushell joined a rehearsal band that

met once a week. These rehearsals exposed him to material that he mightencounter on a bandstand (Bushell and Tucker 1990:16-17). Bushell'scombination of reading and "faking" skills appears to be typical of manyearly jazz musicians. As noted earlier, it was possible for a musician to beexclusively a reading player, such as Charles McCurdy. In addition therewere numerous players, such as Sidney Bechet, who read very little or didnot read music at all. These musicians relied on their ear skills and wereknown as "fakers." Jack Weber observed bands composed of readers andfakers in New Orleans. According to Weber, high class musicians couldread, and dance musicians could not. Weber also noted that some of the


fakers believed that "if they learned how to read, it would ruin their abilityto improvise!" (Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:59).12

For some, reading and faking may have been opposite sides of the samecoin, but Pops Foster recalled that musicians would learn their music fromparts and, after memorizing it, would no longer use the written music.Playing from memory and the process of embellishing, eliding, and other-wise changing the part over time, should be understood to be a part of theprocess of faking. Foster also stressed the idea of rehearsing as a socialactivity; it was a way for musicians, family, and friends to gather and spendtime together.

Everybody wanted you to rehearse at their house so they could havesome fun. . . . We'd start rehearsing about eight o'clock in theevening and play till eleven or midnight, according to when the juiceran out. You'd be rehearsing inside and people would be dancingoutside. After we'd play a number three or four times we didn't needthe music anymore. Everybody who played in New Orleans had tomemorize. I can still remember a lot of numbers we played back in1909.1 hear one bar of it and I'm ready to romp. (Foster 1971:58)

Foster's incorporation of reading music, rehearsing, memorizing, fak-ing, and socializing into a single continuum reveals how much readingmusic was part of the culture in his home. The interaction between read-ing and faking was also present on the bandstand. Those musicians withgood reading skills had to prove their ability in order to get work in read-ing bands, and they had to survive the constant scrutiny of other musi-cians continuously assessing their abilities. Musicians with strong readingand faking skills might be put in the position of choosing between jobsthat involved primarily one or the other of these talents. These musicianswere concerned about how associating with non-reading bands would af-fect their reputation and future ability to acquire work. There was also thegive and take that took place in bands that consisted of a mix of readingand non-reading musicians. Finally, there were occasions when musicianswho read found themselves having to pretend that they were faking.

Some trained musicians who wished to perform in dance bands had tolearn how to fake. Alphonse Picou's first encounter with a group that spe-cialized in faking illustrates how this learning process took place.

I was invited down to the rehearsal that night and I went to the placeand I said to him, "What do you want me to do?" I said, "Do you wantme to play my instrument? Is there any music?" He said, "Music? Youdon't need none." I said, "How am I going to play?" He said, 'You'regoing to come in on the choruses." I said, "All right," and then I

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tuned up; we all tuned up our instruments. He said that when Icouldn't come in, to stay out and listen until I could come in. I didjust what he told me and we got into it, and through with it, and thewhole band shook my hand and told me I was great. . . . That partic-ular style of playing without music was very new to me. I think it wasimpossible to me! It seemed a sort of style of playing without notes.(Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:19)

Later, Picou found that even faking bands relied on reading, or at leaston the readers in the band. Rehearsals were held to learn new music, usu-ally from published parts. The material was memorized and "then, afterthat we didn't need that music no more. We'd go out of the way with it"(ibid.:59)13.

Most faking bands had at least one reader to teach the other musiciansthe written parts. In the Original Dixieland Jazz Band, Eddie Edwardswould show other players their parts. Likewise, Elmer Schoebel andArnold Loyacano demonstrated the arrangements for the other membersof the New Orleans Rhythm Kings who could not read (ibid.:61, 82).

Baby Dodds found that he relied on both his reading and faking skillswhen he played with King Oliver. Oliver led a reading band, but he ex-pected his musicians to put in more than was written on the paper, andwhen he counted in the song Dodds was ready to comply.

When I got there the first piece of music they put in front of me wasCanadian Capers. I asked Joe [Oliver] how he was going to play it.He said from the left hand corner to the right hand corner; fromtop to bottom. The trio was in the middle of the number. I said"Kick off," and Joe kicked off. I read that piece of music down, fromside to side and I went back to the trio. I had played that numberonce and knew it, so I began playing my own style of drums. (Dodds1992:33)

When Clyde Bernhardt arrived in New York City from Harrisburg,Pennsylvania, in 1928 he had to prove that his reading skills were up tothe local standard. He was hired by band leader Herb Cowens for his firstNew York job on the recommendation of trombone player, Dicky Wells.Bernhardt was aware of his outsider status and his need to prove himselfto the other musicians on the job. This need was reinforced by the treat-ment he received when he arrived to play and only two of the musicianson the bandstand spoke to him.

The first set, Herb Cowens told me to lay out if I come to a hardpart, not try any passage I couldn't play. There was no rehearsal. Weplayed two sets. The music seemed like average arrangements—I saw


no hard parts. As we started the third set, Cowens called some of hisbest jazz arrangements and I heard [Ray] Corn and [Bill] Lewis whis-pering loud that everybody going to see some good fun now. "Thisgonna be reeeeeel good," they were saying. "This boy's goin' backwhere he come from, fast." So Cowens stomped off a set that in-cluded Black Maria and Beau Koo Jack, difficult pieces that asked foryour butt. But I knew right away they were the exact stock arrange-ments Henry McClane [a Harrisburg band leader] used, the latestsongs ordered from Feist & Feist direct from New York City. Whenmy solo part came, I stood up and easily played it note-for-note aswritten. And very loudly so that everybody could hear. Before I satdown I put in a little extra stuff especially for Corn and Lewis. Afterthe set, Cowens came over. Said he knew I never seen those numbersbecause only New York bands played such hard arrangements, andhere I read them all at first sight. Bill Lewis jumped up when heheard where I learned to play. "Man, all them Harrisburg niggersread as fast as you?" Ray Corn was slapping me on the back, saidthose numbers cut even the best sharks in town. I acted like Ithought it was easy music—never told anyone I been playing thosesame arrangements for months and almost knew them by heart.Kept my mouth shut and nobody never found out. . . . After wordgot around the Band Box about my fast reading, jobs started comingin. (Bernhardt 1986:66-67)

Once he had proven himself in an adverse setting, Bernhardt was ableto establish himself as a viable contender in the highly competitive NewYork music scene. Nor was this the first time that Bernhardt was given ajob on the merits of his reading abilities. When Pittsburgh band leaderTillie Vennie invited him to play trombone for her band she praised hisreading by saying, "All your parts were correct. You [are] playing betterthan you think you are" (ibid.:46).

Vennie's evaluation of Bernhardt's reading skills was not unique. Giventhe highly competitive atmosphere of most jazz environments, it was onlynatural that musicians were constantly assessing one another's abilities,not only in terms of reading, but in terms of other skills. Pops Foster re-membered that most leaders had differing expectations concerning howtheir musicians should read and execute figures. He was frequently criti-cized, especially by James Humphrey, the father of Willie James Humphrey.

He [Humphrey] was always saying, "You'll never be a musician," and"You'll never play nothin'." We'd be playing some place and he'dstart worryin' me with, "You'd better learn how to read." I'd say, "Ohman, go hide yourself," or "don't rush yourself, go ahead and play."

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Those old guys wanted to read and play different than we did. JimHumphrey and John Robichaux wanted to play one way, and FreddieKeppard and us wanted to play ragtime. Old man Humphrey didn'tlike anybody who couldn't read, and he didn't like the way I pickedthe bass; he wanted me to bow it. (Foster 1971:86)

It is striking that Humphrey and Foster equate reading with being amusician and playing well, and it is a reminder of the opening quote byWillie James Humphrey. It is also worth noting that Foster indicates thatreading was expected from musicians playing differing styles of music inNew Orleans. Moreover, Foster's comments indicate that there was a viewof musical literacy amongst the younger New Orleans musicians that wascreating a division by generation. The "old guys" wanted the younger mu-sicians to read and perform in a specific manner. The younger musicians,such as Foster, were not necessarily opposed to reading music, but theyalso wanted to just "go ahead and play."

Despite this apparent generational difference, Foster was ultimately in-fluenced by the musical values of Humphrey and his peers. Foster's auto-biography is filled with critical assessments of musicians' reading skills. Itis all the more interesting that Foster reserved his harshest criticism formusicians and bands that could not read music.

The bands that couldn't read could play nothing but choruses.They'd play nothing but chorus after chorus. . ..

There were a lot of players around New Orleans who would only playwith their own band. Some of the guys were Ory, Frankie Dusen,Albert Nicholas, and George Brunies. Those guys couldn't read sogood or couldn't read at all, and they couldn't go into other bandsand start playing. Ory couldn't read too good and couldn't find anote either. If he wanted B-flat he couldn't slide up to it and blow,he'd have to slur his horn up to it. He'd stop when he got on thenote. I was always able to play with any band by reading or playing byhead. That's the way I played with so many bands around town.(ibid.:H 50)

Foster recognized two distinct approaches to trumpet playing in NewOrleans. He distinguished these styles by the timbral effect sought by theperformer and by the reliance on written music. According to Foster, play-ers like Louis Armstrong were of the 'jazz type." These players did not usewritten music and they "played hot and made the band swing." In con-trast, those trumpet players whose sound could be described as sweetwould not play original breaks; "if they had to play a break, it had to bewritten for them." The one exception to this, according to Foster, was


Bunk Johnson. Foster aslo held a low opinion of New Orleans pianists.He believed that most could not read and "could only play in one key likeF-sharp." He added sarcastically, "most of the bands couldn't transpose themusic to play with them." According to Foster, Johnny Dodds once soughthim out for advice about getting work outside of New Orleans. Foster toldDodds to "study and train . . . to play with any band and not just one"(ibid.:50, 77, 99).

Foster expressed admiration for Big Eye Louis Nelson's ability to sightread the violin parts at dances and considered Buddy Petit "very pleasin'to listen to, even though Petit could read." This odd choice of phrasingsuggests that Foster may have been of two minds about the relationshipbetween reading and faking. On the one hand, he recognized the intrin-sic value of being able to rely on one's ears and fake. On the other, hecouldn't help but admire the beauty in the playing of his peers whocould read.14

Preston Jackson and Mutt Carey also praised the reading and playingskills of Manuel Perez. Richard M. Jones and Clyde Bernhardt presentedopposing views of King Oliver's reading skills. Jones thought that Oliverwas "a good reader and a good technician. Anything you'd stick up, he'dwipe right off." Bernhardt, on the other hand, thought that Oliver's sightreading skills were weak. He even quoted Oliver as saying, "I'm the slowestgoddamned reader in my band . . . you guys might read faster but damnit, you better wait for me" (Jones quoted in Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:96;Bernhardt 1986:91).

Clyde Bernhardt held the opinion that by 1927, "if you didn't read"there was "no place for you in a good-quality band" (Bernhardt 1986:62).It is possible to push the date earlier, for some dance bands that played"swing," "hot music," and "jazz" consisted entirely of reading musicians inthe 1910s and 1920s. In New Orleans there was the John RobichauxOrchestra and Bab Frank's Peerless Band, and on the riverboats were thebands of Fate Marable, Tony Catalano, and Charlie Creath. There weresome musicians in reading bands who would not play with non-readers.According to Clyde Bernhardt, "if a guy wanted me for a gig but his fel-lows was not good readers, hell, I rather not take it. Not good for your repto play those bands and I knew it" (ibid.:87).

There were, however, many bands that employed differing combina-tions of reading and faking musicians. Danny Barker noted that most NewOrleans bands hired "a fiddle to play the lead—a fiddle player could read—and that was to give them some protection." Jelly Roll Morton was underthe impression that the only member of the Freddie Keppard Creole Bandwho could read was the clarinetist, George Baquet, and that was why hehad the responsibility of playing lead. And, as was mentioned earlier,

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Arnold Loyacano and Elmer Schoebel, the only two members of the NewOrleans Rhythm Kings who could read "sort of helped the others whenthey needed it" (Shapiro and Hentoff 1966:20, 82, 90).

These various combinations of reading and non-reading musicians inthe same ensemble are evidence that it is impossible to present a singlemodel of oral and literate transmission in early jazz. What we find is a widerange of perspectives and practices. There were many instances whenreading and non-reading musicians are working together and helping oneanother, but there are numerous instances where the musicians arecompetitive and will not even work in the same ensemble. Moreover, it isimportant to factor into this equation issues such as race, social class, andincome.

There were times when bands of African American reading musiciansfound that they needed to pretend that they could not read. In New York,James Reese Europe led an orchestra that consisted primarily of readingmusicians. But according to Thomas Hennessey, Eubie Blake recalled thatEurope's orchestra never used written music when performing at whitedances.

Europe would buy full, stock arrangements of the popular hits of theday and rehearse his musicians, all of whom were good readers, ex-tensively in this material, adding a few distinctive touches to makethe arrangement fit the band. Once the arrangement was workedover, however, it would be memorized and the music would not bebrought to the job. Mr. Blake stated that this was to avoid breakingthe white stereotype that blacks were too stupid to read music andthat their musical ability was a wondrous gift and not the result ofhard work. To maintain this illusion, Europe, when taking requestswould ask the patrons to sing a few bars of the melody and ask for afew minutes to "work it out with the boys." Then he would have theorchestra play the tune exactly as it had been rehearsed, to the ac-companiment of amazed remarks by the audience about the naturaltalent of these Negroes. (Hennessey 1973:19-20)

Blake's story about Europe stands in stark contrast to what was dis-cussed earlier regarding Thomas A. Dorsey. Dorsey trained his musiciansuntil they had memorized their music because he wanted the band to lookits professional best. In contrast, Europe trained his musicians to memo-rize the music in order to exploit the racist tendencies of his employers.The use of written music is featured prominently in both stories and itsmemorization reflects the need for both groups to satisfy professional de-mands. There was however, a different motivation for each of the leaders.The primary difference here is that Dorsey's audience was African


\merican and Europe's was white. Other differences may include regionmd social class. We know that African American bands led by FateMarable and John Robichaux on the riverboats and in New Orleans readmusic in front of a white audience, but these audiences were not aswealthy as those in New York. It would be interesting to find evidenceabout how both these audiences actually felt about written music and itsuse by African American bands.

ConclusionWhen Willie James Humphrey died in 1994, I realized that I would

never have a chance to follow-up on our brief phone call. There were somany more questions that I wanted to ask him. I would have wanted toknow more about the differences and similarities between the repertoirethat musicians read versus the repertoire that they faked. I would havewanted to know about Humphrey's views on the differences between NewOrleans musicians and the musicians he encountered on the riverboats.I'd have asked him about other uptown musicians who studied with hisfather. More than anything else, I would have wanted to discuss with himthe idea of being a "musician."

Race has not played as large a role in this story as I had initially ex-pected it would. There were African American musicians who placed ahigh value on reading and those who did not. The same could be said ofwhite musicians. Musicians who wanted or needed to learn how to readfound a way, no matter how many obstacles they encountered. What re-mains striking, however, is the emphasis placed on non-reading musiciansby white music critics and writers of the 1920s and 1930s. One of the earliestexamples of this is Charles Edward Smith and Frederic Ramsey's Jazzmen,which opens with a quote from Bunk Johnson that identifies the BoldenBand as the first jazz band because "it did not read at all" (Ramsey andSmith [1939]1985:v). The book continues in the same vein with a strongemphasis on the inability of the first jazz musicians to read music.Historian Kathy Ogren has identified "primitivism" as one idea central tothese writers. She states that "white readers believedjazz performance couldtransmit the values of a simpler past into the furious present" (1989:151;emphasis in the original). I would suggest that for these writers the disre-gard of musical literacy helped add to that sense of primitivism, therebyaffirming these values.

Although the many jazz musicians cited in this article came from differ-ent parts of the country, had different ethnic and racial backgrounds, andvorked in a wide variety of environments, it is possible to establish the re-:urring presence of written music in their musical lives. It seems, from the)erspective of the musicians, that playing jazz and reading music were not

DAVID CHE VAN 227

separate activities, but could and did take place in the same environments.It also appears that the musical literacy of any individual mattered lessthan the presence of at least one reader in any given ensemble. As long aseven one person in the group was able to read music, all of the musiciansin the ensemble had access to written music. These readers created whatmight be thought of as circles of musical literacy, with most jazz musiciansencompassed by these circles—given access to written music, whether ornot they could read themselves. The idea of musical literacy was and con-tinues to be shaped by social, cultural, and aesthetic values. In a sense,however, nearly every early jazz musician, even those who could not readmusic, encountered and interacted with written music.

Notes1. See, for example, Collier (1983:56-57), Porter and Ullman (1993:23-24),

Schuller (1968:70), Stearns ([1956] 1970:63-66), Tirro (1977:72-75), and Williams(1967:9-10).

2. For more on Armstrong's experience singing in this childhood quartet, seeAbbott (1992:314-19).

3. Information about these music teachers has been obtained by surveying oralhistories, primarily with African American musicians. It seems reasonable to imag-ine that similar kinds of conclusions could be drawn about white urban communi-ties but more research is still needed on this subject. For example, it would be in-teresting to know about what kind of training these teachers had, the degree oftheir musical literacy, and how a person came to obtain the status of the local mu-sic teacher in large cities. Because a handful of names are repeated in the oral his-tories it is possible to determine who some of these teachers were. In New Orleansand the surrounding parishes the local African American music teacher was JamesHumphrey; in Chicago, Major N. Clark Smith; in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, JoeVennie; and in St. Louis, P. B. Langford (Peretti 1989:74; Hinton 1988:22-23;Palmer 1982:7-8; Bernhardt 1986:35).

4. For a detailed discussion of Lorenzo Tio and his family's pedagogical role inNew Orleans, see Kinzer (1996).

5. Louis Armstrong remembered being introduced to the cornet during hiscourt-ordered stay at the Home for Colored Waifs in New Orleans (Armstrong1986:35-48). Jabbo Smith, Gus Aiken, Tommy Benford, and Cat Anderson wereamong the many young boys who learned their craft while playing in oneof the Jenkins Orphanage Bands in Charleston, South Carolina (Chip Defaa1990:192-95; for more information about the Jenkins Orphanage and its bands, seeChiltonl980).

6. Among the organizations that supported bands for young musicians werethe Knights of Pythias, the Elks, the Masons, and the American United Knightsand Daughters of Africa. In St. Louis, the Knights of Pythias band was led byWilliam Blue; Sammy Long and Dewey Jackson were two of his students (McKinney1974:37; Saunders 1982:8; Long 1973:1, 3).


7. While they may have been less common, practices similar to those in NewOrleans were reported for funerals in St. Louis and Kansas City. Lawrence Dentonremembered that during the summer in Kansas City he kept busy playing funeralson almost a weekly basis (Pearson 1987:18). Robert Carter and E. A. McKinney de-scribe elaborate funeral marches to the St. Louis cemeteries. As a young boyCarter would frequently fill in for musicians who had to work during the time ofthe funeral procession. McKinney began playing in these parades around 1904. Heremembered that the band might play a hymn or, quite frequently, "GeneralSherman's Funeral March" on the way to the cemetery. Then, "after the funeralhad gone on, then that's when we'd swing around and get into it." "Getting into it"in St. Louis during the early part of the century meant playing ragtime on the wayback from the cemetery. Carter's description of the St. Louis societies and theirfraternal burial societies paints an image that is quite similar to accounts of NewOrleans activities (Carter 1973:3-7; McKinney 1974:17-20, 23-24).

Marching bands were a frequent sight on the streets of St. Louis. During the1910s, Singleton Palmer remembered seeing at least one parade every Sunday.The effect of these bands on some young boys was strong enough to create, in ef-fect, a St. Louis version of the second line. The repertoire of the bands varied con-siderably. Some bands only played marches and pieces from the standard brassband literature while others included circus music, overtures, ragtime, waltzes, andoccasionally jazz (Bernhardt 1986:51; Carter 1973:9; Pearson 1987:18; McKinney1974:5).

8. This method is reminiscent of the contemporary practice of "conduction" bythe composer and trumpet player Butch Morris. According to Morris conduction"is a means by which a conductor may compose, (re)orchestrate, arrange, andsculpt both notated and non-notated music. Using a vocabulary of signs and ges-tures, many within the general glossary of traditional conducting, the conductormay alter or initiate rhythm, melody, and harmony; develop form and structure;and instantaneously change articulation, phrasing and meter. For example, indefi-nite repeats of a phrase or measure may now be at the discretion of the new com-poser on the podium. In this way conducting becomes more than a method for mu-sical interpretation, but an actual part of the process of composition" (Morris 1991).

9. For another view of dance halls and chaperons, see Badger (1995:82-83,86-87).

10. For other views on playing in a wide variety of venues, see also Bernhardt(1986:54), Singleton in Shapiro and Hentoff (1966:17), Dorsey in Harris (1992:51-52), Bradford (1965:97, 122), and Smith (1975:65-67).

11. A lancer was a square dance of nineteenth-century origin, closely related tothe quadrille. The band book of the John Robichaux Orchestra, housed at theRansom Hogan archives at Tulane University, contains a wide repertoire of dancemusic that covers popular genres and styles from the late nineteenth centurythrough the 1930s. I discuss Robichaux and his repertoire in Chevan (1997:134-95).

12. In a letter, the late John Steiner wrote to me in 1992 that "the bass saxmanSpencer Clark used the still darker word 'cheating.' " It would be interesting tolearn if other musicians ever referred to faking by this term, a value statement thatimplies some sort of wrong-doing on the part of the faker.

DAVID C H E V A N 229

13. These recollections by Alphonse Picou help contextualize Barney Bigard's"discovery" of Picou "playing by ear" with the John Robichaux Orchestra.

14. A partial list of those black and Creole musicians whose reading skills wereappraised by Foster includes Walter Brundy, Sidney Desvignes, Johnny Dodds,Louis Dumaine, Sam Dutrey, Freddie Keppard, Charles McCurdy, Albert Nicholas,Big Eye Louis Nelson, Joe Oliver, Buddy Petit, Alphonse Picou, Zutty Singleton,and Jean Vigne (Foster 1971:28, 44-47, 50, 77, 81, 83, 87, 89).

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